


what tomorrow may bring

by annabeth_writes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-14 10:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16911231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_writes/pseuds/annabeth_writes
Summary: She wanted to weep for herself but the tears never came. All that she did was sleep on the cot, eat the stale food that they brought her, and stare at the dancing shadows on the walls from the flames in the corridor that were her only company.Until he came.orSansa is imprisoned after Joffrey's death and expects to die for a crime she never committed until someone unexpected begins to visit her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is another Oberyn/Sansa (or Oberyn/Sansa/Ellaria) fic that I started but never finished. I intend to finish it now.

Sansa was cold.

It wasn’t the kind of chill that reminded her of home. It didn’t allow her to recall any fond memories of flinging snow at her siblings or huddling in front of her mother’s heart with a warm drink in her hands. It was a never-ending sort of cold that seeped into her bones and drained away all hopes of ever leaving this dark, horrible place. Sansa wondered if this was how her father felt, huddled in these cells with nothing but a threadbare blanket and a lumpy cot to ward off the chill. Or perhaps he was in a worse place than this. Sansa heard terrible things about dungeons of the Red Keep and she knew that it could be much worse for her. Yet it was somehow bad enough.

There were no windows for her to see the sunlight so she did not know how many days and nights had passed since she was locked away. Cersei’s screams still echoed in her ears even now, demanding that she and Tyrion be taken away for killing Joffrey. Any trace of joy that Sansa felt at seeing him die had long since faded. The lovely purple dress that she wore was no longer beautiful and she’d long since removed the hair net that Dontos had given her, tossing it onto the dirt covered floor some time ago in a fit of anger. He didn’t come for her soon enough and now she was going to die.

If she didn’t  know any better, Sansa would have wondered if they wanted her to waste away in the cell. But she did know better. Cersei would parade her out for the world to see. She would want strike her down publicly much like her father, even if the charges against her were as false as they’d been against him. Perhaps they would even drag her to Baelor’s sept and let her blood stain the same steps. There was no one to stop them. No fear of northern retaliation now that she was the last Stark. Sansa wanted to weep for herself but the tears never came. All that she did was sleep on the cot, eat the stale food that they brought her, and stare at the dancing shadows on the walls from the flames in the corridor that were her only company.

Until he came.

Sansa had never even met his eye before, much less spoken to him. Yet he slipped into her small cell and sat on a stool near to her cot as if he belonged there. He possessed a casual grace, even in a place like this, and there was little concern for her dirt-streaked skin or matted hair as he gazed upon her where she sat on the cot, her eyes wide and her knees pulled to her chest. 

She felt exposed beneath his dark, glittering gaze and wanted nothing more than to shout at him to leave her be. There was no reason for him to be here unless he wished to look upon a person about to die. Surely he’d done it enough in his life, if the stories were true. Perhaps it excited him. Sansa truly didn’t want to know but she couldn’t  bring herself to look away from him, which only encouraged him to speak to her.

“I noticed you,” Oberyn Martell said, his voice softer than she expected.

She simply blinked at him, keeping her lips sealed shut. There was no use in talking to him.

“You were not what I expected when I heard that there was a Stark, the last Stark, in King’s Landing. Despite your beauty, it seems that all you ever want to do is go unnoticed. You try to disappear in plain sight and like a wilting flower, you shrink into yourself whenever anyone stands too close to you.”

Sansa clenched her hands in her dirty dress and gritted her teeth, wanting nothing more than for him to just leave her be. But he did not seem as though he intended to go anywhere.

“But then I saw you at the wedding feast as that cruel little boy choked on his own breath and for just a moment, there was a light in your eyes. You looked magnificent in your vindication.”

She glanced away from him, wondering if he was some trick sent by Cersei.

“I’ve been appointed as a judge for the trials of you and your husband.”

_ He’s not my husband, _ Sansa wanted to say to him.  _ Not truly. _ But she did not, warily lifting her eyes to meet his once more. He did not look frustrated at her lack of response. Much the opposite, in fact. There was the slightest bit of concern in his eyes but he stood nonetheless, nodding his head at her.

“My lady.”

As he turned, his foot came down upon the hairnet and he paused before bending to pluck it out of the dirt.

“A fine piece,” Oberyn said, squinting at it.

It was only then, as it caught the torch light from the corridor, that Sansa noticed one of the stones was missing. It must have come loose when she tossed it away.

“Keep it,” she finally spoke to him, her voice rough with disuse. “I have no need for pretty things anymore.”

Oberyn looked at her with a calculating expression before returning his gaze to the hairnet.

“Thank you,” he said, pocketing it.

As he stepped towards the door, Sansa realized with a jolt that she was about to be alone again. Even if she didn’t  know him and even if she didn’t want him there, this would likely be her last taste of companionship for a long time.

“Good day, my prince,” she said, falling back on her courtesies.

Oberyn glanced back over his shoulder, surprise flitting across his face before it was chased away by the smallest of smiles, as if he was impressed by something she did or said. Sansa couldn’t imagine what so she did not try.

“I will see you very soon, my lady,” he said.

It sounded like a promise and, for some reason, Sansa believed him.

*****

When the time came, she was pulled from her cell and delivered to a small chamber to be scrubbed clean and laced into a black woolen dress. Her long hair was secured out of her face in a simple bun at the nape of her neck. Sansa didn’t mind the plain manner in which they dressed her, only that they did so to deliver her to court, where she was lead in with shackles on her wrists as everyone stared her way. The sunlight blinded her when she first stumbled out of the dungeons but she would take that pain over this humiliation a thousand times.

When she was finally placed within a slightly raised and enclosed platform in the exact center of the Great Hall, Sansa forced herself not to look at Cersei where she sat to the right of the judges, a cold unfeeling look upon her face, or at Margaery where she sat with her family, pity written upon hers. Instead her eyes swept over the watching crowd and spotted a few familiar faces that looked back at her with nothing but curiosity or disgust.

“Lady Sansa,” Tywin said from where he sat in between his fellow judges. “You stand accused of the murder of King Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name. How do you answer this charge?”

Sansa’s chest grew tight and breathing grew difficult. Black spots began to form in her vision just as she saw movement to the left of Lord Tywin. Her eyes caught on a flash of yellow fabric and she focused on it, gripping her skirts so tightly that her fingers ached as the tension slowly eased from her chest. Sansa found herself staring into Prince Oberyn’s eyes only to see that he was doing the same. Without moving an inch or saying a word, he encouraged her to speak with the look upon his face. Sansa glanced back at Tywin, who seemed impatient her silence.

“I am innocent,” Sansa said, surprised at how steady her voice was.

Her words carried across the room and she heard a few murmurs rise up around her before Tywin silenced them with a simple wave of his hand.

“You deny colluding with your husband, Tyrion Lannister, to put poison into King Joffrey’s goblet at his wedding feast?” he asked.

“There was no collusion, my lord,” Sansa said, trying to remain as calm as she could. “We never spoke of poisons or of killing the king at all.”

Tywin stared at her for a long moment before speaking again

“Your trial will begin tomorrow. You may call upon witnesses to speak on your behalf. In the meantime, you will be confined to the dungeons of the Red Keep until myself and my fellow judges come to a decision.”

As two Lannister guards came forward to escort Sansa back to her cell, she looked to Prince Oberyn once more, just for a moment, but it was long enough for her to see his shallow nod in her direction before she was turned around and led away. When he came to her cell that night, Sansa wasn’t surprised to see him. She did not, however, expect the portion of warm bread, dried meat, and the skin of water that he brought with him.

“Do they feed you at all?” he asked, laying them on the bed beside her before retreating back to the stool and sitting there once more. “You’re as skinny as a reed.”

“They do,” Sansa said, carefully unwrapping the bread. “What they bring to me unsettles my stomach.”

She didn’t forget her manners, even in the dim light of the cell that was her home until her death, for surely there would be no other fate for her now. His eyes stayed fixed upon her as she broke off a small piece of the bread and ate it slowly. She did the same with the meat and when she drank from the skin, not a single droplet of water slipped down her chin.

“They mistreat you,” he said, a dark look upon his face.

Sansa wondered why he cared at all.

“That is the point, is it not? To force my confession?” she asked, leaning back against the wall behind her. “I hear that the lowest level of the cells is where they torture people. I wonder if they will take me there.”

“They would not dare.”

Sansa marveled at his confidence, wondering how he managed it.

“Do you think that someone once said that they would not dare arrest the Warden of the North? That they would not dare charge him with treason? That they would not dare execute him?”

Oberyn didn’t say anything yet he did not leave either. She did not feel quite as unsettled in his presence now but she couldn’t quite relax either.

“You should not be here, should you?” Sansa asked after a long stretch of silence, daring to glance up into his eyes.

“No I should not,” he said.

She gazed upon his face and wondered if, in another life, he might have been a man she could trust. Sansa knew that she’d blush and stammer if he approached her in court, her in a pretty dress with ribbons in her hair and him, handsome and worldly as he was rumored to be. His famed fighting prowess had been among Bran’s favorite stories though Sansa’s mother hardly wanted anyone to speak of the famed Red Viper of Dorne in his hearing, not when he was famous for other things as well, including his many bastards.

Tilting her head up, Sansa briefly wondered if he was not like the others. Perhaps he truly sought to give her a fair chance in the trial but either way he would be outmatched by Lord Tywin, who did not care for her at all, and Lord Tyrell, who undoubtedly wanted to make his daughter queen once more and would not stand against the Lannisters in his path for power.

“Do you think it will make it easier?” Sansa asked.

Oberyn tilted his head to the side, silently questioning what she meant by that.

“If you see me and speak to me and know me, do you think that will make it easier to sentence me to death when the time comes?” she clarified.

His brow furrowed and his arms crossed lazily over his stomach as he leaned back against the wall behind her.

“Your trial has not yet begun, my lady. You have not been found guilty of anything.”

“My sentence was decided from the moment I was accused.”

Sansa did not know where this boldness came from. Perhaps days and nights on end spent alone in near darkness had stripped away her courtesies and made her more like Arya and Robb. She could imagine them sitting next to her with mischievous looks upon their faces, a vision which would never come to pass. What would she have said to someone like Cersei if she visited instead? The thought nearly brought a hysterical giggle to her lips but she managed to quiet it before she made a sound.

“You may call witnesses to speak on your behalf,” Oberyn reminded her.

She looked away from him, a sad smile on her lips.

“There is not a single person in this castle who would speak for me,” Sansa said quietly, pulling her knees to her chest as she stared at a divot in the wall. “I had few friends before I was accused of kingslaying. Now I have none.”

Oberyn was silent for a long few moments, as if he did not know what to say to that.

“Might I ask who gave you that lovely hair net then?” he asked when he finally did speak.

Sansa’s eyes returned to his as she gave him a confused frown.

“Does it matter?” she asked.

“I am a curious man,” Oberyn said.

She hesitated before realizing that it truly did not matter. Ser Dontos hadn’t been at court today and she suspected that he fled the city when she’d been arrested.

“Ser Dontos of House Hollard,” Sansa said.

“I have heard of him,” Oberyn said, leaning forward a little bit. “Wasn’t he named a fool by the late king?”

She nodded, remembering the horror she felt at watching the poor knight nearly drown in the wine that Joffrey forced upon him.

“I encouraged it,” Sansa said, the words slipping from her lips before she could call them back. “King Joffrey was going to kill him but I convinced him otherwise and agreed that Ser Dontos would make a better fool than a knight.”

“A gracious act. I can see why he would want to give you such a gift.”

She didn’t respond, sinking her teeth into her lower lip as she tried not to think of where she might be if she’d found Ser Dontos that day instead of being restrained by the Lannister guards. Oberyn didn’t speak either, leaving them in a heavy though not entirely uncomfortable silence. Then he stood and gathered the remnants of the food that he brought her.

“Do try to rest, Lady Stark,” he said, retreating to the door.

“I am Lady Lannister,” Sansa said without thinking.

Oberyn turned around, looking slightly amused at her words.

“Are you?” he asked.

She didn’t answer, heat filling her cheeks at what he was implying.

“Thank you for the food, my lord,” Sansa said.

He simply nodded at her.

“Until tomorrow.”

*****

Sansa didn’t know what possessed her to do it. As soon as she learned from one of the maids that washed and dressed her that Tyrion, in a fit of rage at his father and the court around him, demanded a trial by combat. He’d claimed for all to hear that his trial was never going to be a fair one and so he would put his fate in the hands of the gods. He was right.  Sansa didn't know the reaction to his demand but chaos erupted when she announced that she wished to have the same sort of trial and she was pulled from the room before she could say another word. It was only hours later, as she laid upon her cot staring at the ceiling, that someone finally came to her. She did not have to look to know who it was. He didn’t  say a word. Sansa counted his breaths for a few minutes before she finally broke.

“It was foolish of me, wasn’t it?”

“Some may call it brave,” Oberyn said.

She turned her head, finally looking at him where he leaned against the wall.

“Do you?”

“I think that you are scared,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But that does not mean that you cannot be brave as well.”

Sansa swallowed hard, looking away from him.

“It’s what my sister would have done,” she said, closing her eyes. “She was never afraid of anything and she would have never given them the satisfaction of sentencing her to die.”

“Perhaps you are more like your sister than you think,” Oberyn said.

She wanted to laugh but could not bring herself to do so. If only he knew how little they were truly alike. But that did not mean that Sansa wouldn’t give almost anything to see Arya again.

“I cannot fight and I have no one to stand in my place.”

Oberyn finally moved, walking over to sit upon the stool.

“Years ago, my sister lived in this keep. She was trapped here by the mad King Aerys to ensure the our loyalty,” he said, crossing one leg over the other.

Sansa opened her eyes, hesitating for a moment before turning over on her side to face him.

“Princess Elia,” she said, having heard the story.

He nodded once, a distant sadness in his eyes.

“She died in this keep too, alongside her children. There was no trial because she committed no crime. There was no champion to stand in her place and no one to protect her from being raped and murdered.”

Sansa could not help but feel pity for a woman that died before she was even born.

“The Lannisters did that,” she said.

“I believe that Tywin gave the order, yes,” Oberyn said, his voice edged with anger.

“How can you bear it?” Sansa asked, pulling the blanket tighter around her. “How can you be near them?”

“How can you?” Oberyn asked.

She shrugged, a lazy gesture that Septa Mordane would have scolded her for.

“I have no choice. I’m trapped here too,” Sansa said.

“Perhaps your fortunes are changing.”

She nearly laughed once more.

“I’m on trial for a crime I did not commit,” she reminded him.

“The gods have strange ways,” Oberyn said, leaning forward. “Lord Tywin decided that you will share a fate with your husband. Your trial by combat will be one and the same. Whatever champion stands for you stands for him as well. The crown’s chosen champion is Gregor Clegane, who has recently been named as the man I seek to kill.”

Sansa’s eyes widened at his words and she stared at him, not daring to hope.

“My lord…” she whispered.

Oberyn gave her the slightest of smiles before standing up.

“Do not be afraid, Lady Stark,” he said, flickering flame illuminating his face and making him almost look otherworldly. “I will be your champion.”

Her breath caught in her throat and she slowly pushed herself to sit, gazing up at him.

“For your sister?” Sansa asked.

“For justice,” Oberyn said.

His reasons did not truly matter. For the first time since the wedding, she felt tears sting her eyes and slip down her cheeks.

“Thank you,” Sansa said, her voice quivering.

Oberyn simply lowered himself into a bow without breaking his gaze away from her.

“It is as I said, fortunes change,” he said with a wink.

With that, he left her to wrap her mind around it all. Sansa was grateful for the solitude as her tears continued to fall and a disbelieving laugh fell from her lips. Whether it was the gods or just Oberyn himself, she did not care. There was hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa wasn’t sure what to think when they took her from her cell and delivered her to another in a damper, darker part of the dungeons. She had to squint and peer through a flickering torch that the guard placed upon the wall to see Tyrion crouched against the wall.

“My lady,” he said, squinting at her as well.

With a heavy sigh, he let his head thump back against a well and gestured to a small stool where she could sit. As Sansa did so, she let her eyes take in his own tired, hunched form and knew that they treated him as well as they did her. Perhaps even worse.

“I suppose they’ve brought you here to confront me with the consequences of my outburst,” Tyrion said once she was seated.

“My lord?” Sansa said questioningly.

He sighed again, shaking his head as he looked up at her.

“If I knew that you were going to follow my example, I never would have requested the trial by combat,” he said, sounding quite miserable.

Sansa frowned at him, gripping her skirts in her hands.

“But I was told what you said, that you would never retrieve a fair trial with your father determining the outcome and your sister demanding your death,” she said, keeping her voice low. “You were right. The queen wants to see me dead as well.”

“Perhaps I was right on my own account, but you were never in the same danger.”

She didn’t understand what he was saying. Did he not think that she was on trial for the exact same crime as him? That she was not trapped in the same dungeon as him? That she did not see Ser Ilyn approaching her with a bloodied sword while Cersei’s laughter filled the air every night in her dreams?

“It is a sad state of affairs but you are far more valuable to my father than I. Your claim on Winterfell alone would have prevented your death no matter if Cersei screamed for your blood from the top of the Wall to the southernmost shore of Dorne. You would have been found innocent and I would have been found guilty. My father, in his mercy, would have sent me to join the Night’s Watch, thus dissolving our unconsummated marriage and allowing him to marry you off to the next Lannister.”

Sansa let his words sink in and felt like a fool for not seeing it before. It was the same reason that Tywin married her to Tyrion at all and why he was adamant that they consummate the marriage. They needed Winterfell.

“I suppose I should be thanking you,” Tyrion said before she could speak. “It’s bloody cold at the Wall.”

“Why would you thank  _ me _ ?” she asked, still trying to reconcile herself to the fact that she may have needlessly put not only herself in further danger but Prince Oberyn Martell as well.

“My father tied our fates together in the hopes that I would secure a proper champion to fight in our stead. I did not get the chance to promise any man a purse of gold before I was told that my young wife beat me to it.”

Sansa realized that he knew about Oberyn’s pledge and leaned back against the pillar behind her, taking a deep breath.

“I did not ask him,” she said, looking down at her lap. “He freely offered his services.”

“A matter we shall concern ourselves with if we survive,” Tyrion said, sounding slightly troubled by her revelation. “He is fighting the unbeatable.”

“He is quite motivated to win,” Sansa said, though the words sounded weak upon her tongue.

He did not deny her words, though she could see the wary look upon his face even in the dim light of the cell.

“As is Gregor Clegane, unfortunately,” Tyrion said, sounding rather pessimistic. “He does not want to die.”

Sansa’s mouth felt dry and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap as she tried not to panic overly much. There was nothing to do about it now. It wasn’t as though she could go back and change her mind about her trial. She chose this and now she had to wake up knowing that two men may die as well as herself. Either way, blood would be spilled. They sat in silence for a long time until the guard came to escort Sansa back to her own cell.

“Will you pray?” Tyrion asked as she stood.

She paused, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“Do you think that anyone will listen?”

He did not answer. He did not need to.

*****

When she woke the next morning, the guards escorted her to the same small chamber. Only this time there was a table laden with a myriad of foods so that she could properly break her fast. Her stomach was laden with fear and so she could barely choke down a few bites of egg and a piece of fried bread before undressing and sinking into the cold bath they readied for her. She barely noticed the temperature as she scrubbed away the grime on her skin and washed her hair. Two maids helped her with the rest, lacing her corset and dressing her in yet another black gown, this one with a wide golden belt.

Her hair was left to tumble freely about her shoulders with only two braids starting at her temples and ending at the back of her head. It was a distinctly northern style and Sansa couldn’t help but wonder if it was an act of kindness on this day that may well be her last. As soon as they finished, she was escorted from the chamber by half a dozen gold cloaks that, after they allowed her to pray entirely alone in the Red Keep’s sept, delivered her to a part of the castle she had not seen during her years of living there. It was only when she was led into a solar and came face to face with not just her lord husband but Prince Oberyn Martell himself, who was being helped into incredibly light armor by a younger Dornishman, Ser Daemon Sand, that she understood.

“Perhaps you can convince him to use his brain since he is fighting on your behalf more than mine,” Tyrion said, lounging in a chair with a careless air about him, though she could see the stress lining his eyes. “Our champion is partaking in a bit of wine and I, for one. feel rather uncomfortable with it.”

“I always drink before battle,” Oberyn said, sounding in good cheer. “Would you like a cup, my lady?”

Sansa shook her head, clasping her hands to prevent them seeing how they shook.

“It could get us all killed,” Tyrion grumbled.

The prince laughed aloud at that, passing his cup off to one of the young men.

“The gods defend the innocent. You  _ are  _ innocent, I trust?”

He did not look to Sansa, as if he did not need to ask, but rather to Tyrion.

“Only of killing Joffrey,” Tyrion said with a dry wit to his voice. “Ser Gregor is rumored to have been wounded on the Red Fork, and again at Duskendale. This may give you the advantage.”

“I do not know whether to be insulted that you think I need such an advantage,” Oberyn said.

“Do you know what you are facing?”

“The Mountain That Rides,” Oberyn said simply as the door to his bedchamber opened.

Sansa felt guilt rise in her chest at the sight of his paramour, Ellaria Sand, dressed in resplendent orange silks with her thick hair falling in loose curls down her back. If Oberyn died facing Gregor Clegane, he would not just leave Sansa and Tyrion to follow him to the Stranger’s embrace but he would leave behind his lover and eight daughters as well as a brother who likely thought to have him returned to Dorne at the end of this.

“I have killed large men before,” the prince continued, greeting Ellaria with a brief kiss before slipping red gloves on his hands. “The trick is to tire them out and get them off their feet. Once they go down, they’re dead.”

His confidence seemed to reassure Tyrion until Ser Daemon tossed him a spear that he snatched from the air. It had to be at least eight feet long with two of those feet taken up by slender steel spearhead. Recalling the rumors of how he earned the Red Viper title, Sansa could not keep from wondering if the spear was brushed with poison. Any protests that Tyrion had about the choice of weapon died on his lips as Oberyn turned to face Sansa.

“Do you trust that I will win this fight, Lady Sansa?” he asked.

Her eyes widened and darted around the room to see that every person’s gaze was upon her, waiting for her response.

“I trust in your ability to do so, Prince Oberyn,” she said, fighting to keep her voice level as she spoke for the first time. “Yet I am aware that you seek more than the will of the gods. Though I am barely acquainted with you, I would beg that you live if only for the sake of your kin. I do not know the names of your daughters but I do know what it is to be a daughter myself. Especially the daughter of a man who was taken from her far too early.”

She did not look at Tyrion as she spoke, knowing that he’d never heard her speak so bravely. Instead, she kept her eyes upon the prince.

“Do not make them suffer the senseless death of their father when I am certain that they anticipate your return. That is all I ask.”

There was a curious emotion in Oberyn’s face, something like respect and sympathy all at once, as he nodded in return.

“Well said, my lady.”.

When they left, each member of the small entourage had to walk quickly to match Oberyn’s quick march.

“It is said that a Lannister always pays his debts, is it not Lord Tyrion?” he asked as if he did not know.

“Yes it is,” Tyrion huffed as he struggled to keep up.

“Perhaps you will return to Sunspear with me when the day’s bloodletting is done. My brother Doran would be pleased to meet the rightful heir of Casterly Rock… especially if he brought his lovely wife, the Lady of Winterfell.”

Sansa’s cheeks flushed as she strode beside Ellaria, her heart racing in her chest.

“Sounds quite pleasant,” Tyrion said.

“Plan on a lengthy visit. You and Doran have many matters of mutual interest to discuss. Music, trade, history, wine… the laws of inheritance and succession. No doubt an uncle’s counsel would be of benefit to Queen Myrcella in the trying times ahead.”

His words were treason but Sansa had the sense that the prince truly did not care if anyone heard. What would they do? Imprison him only so that he could demand a trial by combat for himself as well? Did he intend for her to represent the north and declare for Myrcella as well? It was obvious that he was following the Dornish laws of succession in which a female could inherit but that was not the way of the rest of Westeros. Why would anyone allow Dorne to achieve such a thing? She did not have much time to think on it, for the prince’s paramour took her arm and walked close to her.

“Obara, Nymeria, Tyene, Sarella, Elia, Obella, Dorea, and Loreza,” Ellaria said quietly so that only Sansa could hear what she was saying.

She did not know what to say to that, earning a laugh from the older woman.

“You admitted that you did not know the names of Oberyn’s daughters and now you do,” she said, grinning at Sansa. “Helpful knowledge to possess if you are to visit Dorne.”

The confidence in her voice mirrored that of the prince and Sansa could not help but feel somewhat comforted by it.

“Thank you for your words,” Ellaria said, nodding at Oberyn where he was talking to Tyrion about a visit he and his sister made to Casterly Rock years ago. “I myself woke with the fear that he may get lost in his thirst for blood and forget the danger of this situation. You do us all a service in reminding him that dying in the pursuit of justice does not mean much if what you leave behind is far more valuable than revenge. It will not be forgotten.”

Sansa could not help but feel overwhelmed by her words, a feeling which increased tenfold as they stepped into the outer ward only to see that a vast crowd had gathered in anticipation at seeing the trial. She was grateful for not taking advantage of the food that they set out for her as her stomach churned and her head swam. The sick feeling in her gut only worsened upon seeing Cersei standing in the shadow of the Mountain. It was hard to decide whether Oberyn was brave or foolish but even as he took in the massive form of his opponent and the greatsword that he wielded, the prince looked no less confident than before. Ellaria stepped in to kiss him deeply, undoubtedly whispering words of love before he stepped away with a nod, his arm falling from around her waist.

Before he donned his helm, he clasped Tyrion’s arm in a show of solidarity and then turned to Sansa. She wished that she could find some encouraging or perhaps even a prayer for his success but any words died upon her lips and she dropped her eyes in shame. He did not allow it, reaching out to take her hand in his gloved one. Her head lifted and her lips parted in surprise. Even Tyrion frowned where he stood next to Ser Daemon, annoyance flitting through his eyes as Oberyn stepped close to her. It was entirely unbefitting of a woman wedded, if not yet bedded, but Sansa did not pull away, allowing herself to be stilled by his dark, enthralling gaze.

“There is fear in your eyes.”

Sansa swallowed hard, her fingers unintentionally tightening around his. She knew that there were eyes upon them and the proper thing to do would be to remind him of it. Yet the words would not come.

“I do not wish to watch you die. Not for me,” Sansa admitted.

Oberyn simply smiled at her, lifting her hand only to brush a kiss over her knuckles that felt far more intimate than it should have.

“Fear not,” he said, giving her a wink before releasing her hand.

A cheer rose up as he made his way out into the cleared space, fitting his helmet into place and twirling his spear around in an entirely ostentatious manner clearly meant to excite the watching smallfolk even more. Ser Gregor did not earn quite the response but nor he did need it. There was a singular focus in his mind as he stalked towards the prince with his greatsword clutched in one hand and his face hidden by the visor on his helmet. She remembered how easily he killed his horse at her father’s tourney and how he nearly did the same to Loras Tyrell. Prince Oberyn approached him swiftly once he turned away from the crowd, a similar focus on his face now that he stood before the man who murdered his sister.

“Do you know who I am?” Sansa heard him call out.

“Some dead man,” Ser Gregor grunted in return.

The simple exchange of words seemed enough to call both men into action. Suddenly the knight was swinging his sword in wide arcs and hacking down as the prince avoided every blow, striking out gracefully with his spear. He managed a few blows against the Mountain’s armor but nothing came of it. It did not seem to discourage him as he led Ser Gregor on quite the dance. Sansa did not realize that she was holding her breath until her head swam and her chest began to burn. As she released the breath and inhaled another, Ellaria pried her fingers away from their grip upon her skirt and held them.

Though she did not know the woman, she felt much stronger standing next to her with their fingers entwined as lovers would with only the tightness of both their grips betraying their unease. Sansa felt surprised at Prince Oberyn’s silence, interrupted only by the occasional grunt or huff. She only spoke with him a few times but it seemed to her, especially after his merriment during their walk here, that he quite loved to talk and now he was facing a man that he’d wanted to confront for a very long time. Perhaps he had taken her words to heart and did not give himself over to the distraction of taunting Ser Gregor.

Sansa pushed away the thought quickly, quietly scolding herself for thinking that she had any sway over the prince. Such thoughts belonged to the tales she used to love of a brave man promising his lady love that he would return to her when the fight was done. This was not such a tale, since she was no Jonquil and her Florian had not retrieved her from Joffrey’s wedding like he promised to do so. Prince Oberyn was just a man seeking revenge and his lover was clutching Sansa’s hand. And her husband, the man she’d be tied to forever if this ended with Ser Gregor’s death, was standing at her side with his hands balled into fists and his disfigured face incredibly pale as he watched the fight. Nothing of this was a tale from the songs.

“He’s slowing down,” Ellaria said, her voice betraying the frown upon her face.

Sansa’s attention snapped back to the fight. Sure enough, Ser Gregor was moving the slightest bit slower than before, putting him at an even further contrast to the Prince who parried a blow with his spear and struck out at the slightest opening in his armor at the elbow without any evidence of exhaustion in his movements. The knight roared in fury and pain but swung out with his greatsword again, nearly taking Oberyn’s helm from his head just before he ducked. Perhaps it was true and he was injured as Tyrion said.

“Isn’t that what the prince wanted?” Sansa asked.

“Not this quickly,” Ser Daemon said from where he stood at Ellaria’s other side.

Ellaria and the Dornish knight exchanged a look that she could not see but she could certainly feel their suspicion. Something wasn’t entirely right and it yet it seemed like they were the only ones who sensed it. Tywin, who was sitting elevated above both smallfolk and nobles, wore a distant yet tight look upon his face as he watched the fight. Cersei, however, looked as though she was ready to scream as she watched the battle turn to the prince’s favor. Yet it was not over and the knight seemed determined to remain upright, though he staggered each time he charged. 

Finally, Prince Oberyn caught him behind one knee with his spear and sent him down onto the other. Ellaria’s grip released some on Sansa’s hand but she felt no such relief as her other hand pressed over her racing heart. Before Ser Gregor could heave back to his feet, Oberyn reached out and grasped the stone fist atop his helm and took the whole thing right off his head.

“I would see your eyes,” he said just loud enough that the crowd closest could hear, tossing the heavy helmet away as if it was nothing more than a feather.

This infuriated Ser Gregor more than anything and he swung out where he knelt. Oberyn mostly dodged the blow but the very tip of the sword sliced into his breeches just above the knee. Though the prince did not make a sound, Sansa knew from Ellaria’s flinch that there was little chance he was not bloodied by it. It did not slow him as he knocked the flat of his spear against Ser Gregor’s head, using the knight’s disorientation to his advantage and kicking the sword out of his weakening hands.

It all seemed far too easy and Sansa could not help but wonder if perhaps the Red Viper’s poison was not on his spear at all. Her eyes darted to Ser Gregor’s squire, a trembling youth who did not look stricken at seeing the knight kneeling in the dirt. He held a large wineskin in both hands and Sansa briefly allowed the thought that Prince Oberyn was more than likely not only man who desired sustenance before a fight. Turning her attention back to the scene at the center of the ward, she watched Oberyn circle the knight like a predator would do to prey. 

“Finish it,” Sansa heard Tyrion hiss beside her.

“You raped my sister,” Oberyn declared loudly, pointing his spear at Ser Gregor who was struggling to stand only to fall back to his knees. “You murdered her and her children. You should be forced to speak their names but your death will have to satisfy them instead.”

A hush fell over the watching crowd as he strode towards Ser Gregor with purpose, giving the knight no time to react before bringing the spear down in the small space that he had between his chin and the piece of armor meant to cover his throat. A spray of blood covered the ground and blended seamlessly into the red armor that Prince Oberyn wore as a gurgling sound reached Sansa’s ears. More came when the spear was removed, spreading across the dirt once Ser Gregor collapsed to the side. 

Sansa was certain that she would be glad if the prince got this far but her stomach twisted and she closed her eyes against the sheer amount of blood that she’d only seen once before, spreading across the steps of Baelor’s Sept from her father’s body. There were no cheers from the smallfolk now but she was trapped in the memory until slender arms pulled her into a soft, warm embrace. Sansa realized that her knees had gone weak and it was Ellaria who held her up so that she would not fall. She heard Lord Tywin announcing the judgment of the gods, proclaiming she and Tyrion as innocent. Then Prince Oberyn spoke, his voice carrying once more.

“Do what you wish with his body but I claim his head for Dorne in the name of Elia Martell,” he said, clearly directing the words at Lord Tywin. “I trust that it will be delivered.”

Sansa heard his approach and lifted her head from Ellaria’s shoulders, forcing her eyes to open. Prince Oberyn did not begrudge her the comfort of his paramour, handing his bloodied spear to Ser Daemon before murmuring low enough that Sansa was certain only she, Ellaria, and the knight could hear that he wanted the wineskin that Ser Gregor had been drinking from. Apparently they were not the only ones who suspected that something was amiss, only now she had to consider that perhaps the prince was not behind it after all. Composing herself, she stepped away from Ellaria with a small yet grateful smile to the other woman before turning her attention to the man who saved two lives that day.

“You have my gratitude, Prince Oberyn,” Tyrion said with a bow of his head.

“I will have your company before long, Lannister,” Prince Oberyn said, removing his helm. “Perhaps you will find Dorne to your liking and never wish to leave.”

His eyes were upon Sansa as he said the final words, shining with some secret amusement that she could not decipher. But then he removed his gloves and reached out, gently taking her hand once more to kiss it yet again.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, curtsying to him.

He simply nodded at her, squeezing her hand gently before releasing it to take Ellaria into his arms without care for the blood that he smeared upon her dress. She did not seem to mind, brushing a kiss over his lips.

“Let us drink and be merry,” Oberyn said, tucking Ellaria against his side as her arms wrapped around his waist. “Shall we, Lord Tyrion?”

Before her lord husband could answer, they all watched as a Lannister page approached. Any relief that she felt disappeared at the reminder that she was still a prisoner even if they did not lock her in a cell.

“Perhaps later,” Tyrion said as though he knew exactly the news that the young man would deliver. “I think my father wishes to speak to us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I would love to hear what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who is reading and commenting. I appreciate every single one of you.

Sansa remained in step with Tyrion, trying not to show her panic as they made their way up the steps of the Tower of the Hand to Lord Tywin’s solar. He sat at an ornate writing desk as they entered and the memory of her father at the same desk made her stomach churn with disgust. Sansa knew what became of her mother and father. How their bodies were mutilated and disrespected. How her father’s head was left to rot in the battlements of this same castle. How her mother was only killed because the Freys violated the sacred guest right. They only would have done so with the protection of the crown. The protection of the man sitting right in front of her.

How she despised him.

He paid them no mind for several moments, his eyes on the words that he wrote on a piece of parchment. Tyrion shifted next to her but Sansa held herself perfectly still, keeping her eyes on finely woven rug beneath her feet. It hadn’t been there when her father was the Hand. Sansa wondered if the blood of the northern men who died in service to her father soaked into the previous rug, rendering it unusable. They may have scrubbed it away but the blood would never truly leave this keep, just like it would never truly leave Lord Tywin’s hands. Yet she had the dark suspicion that he did not care about the stain that he carried with him.

“You have been found innocent of any crime,” Tywin said, finally laying down his quill. “You will be restored to your previous station and given access to your chambers in Maegor’s Holdfast once more.”

“Where Cersei can have us stabbed in our sleep?” Tyrion said, drawing his father’s cool gaze. “I think we will take our chances in the city. I have a manse-”

“The former queen regent will undergo a period of mourning in seclusion,” Tywin interrupted him, setting the parchment aside so that the ink could dry. 

Tyrion snorted, muttering under his breath that the men who tried to keep her in seclusion should wear full armor if they did not wish to have their eyes scratched from their skulls. Sansa could not help but agree. Cersei would not submit herself to isolation in her chambers so easily. And if she still thought that they were responsible for Joffrey’s death, she would seek satisfaction.

“You will not be in King’s Landing for long anyhow,” Lord Tywin continued, sitting straight in his chair. 

Sansa’s breath caught in her throat but she did her best to remain still and silent, not wanting to call attention to herself. Could it really be true? Might she finally leave King’s Landing? Surely they would journey to Casterly Rock but there would be no Cersei there and Joffrey was dead. It wouldn’t mean her freedom but at least she would no longer be trapped within the Red Keep’s walls.

“I cannot have the two of you squabbling about the keep while I try to make a king of my grandson. It will be difficult enough dealing with one child,” her goodfather said.

“How lucky, then, that Prince Oberyn himself invited my lady wife and I to Dorne,” Tyrion told him.

Sansa expected Tyrion’s father to outright dismiss the idea of it. It was clear that he did not trust the prince and she sensed that his misgivings extended to the rest of the Martells as well. Yet his eyes took on a thoughtful light and he stared at Tyrion for a long time before his eyes moved to Sansa.

“Your wife is need of rest,” he said, his cold green eyes making her skin crawl. “See to her needs and I will discuss this more with you. You will break your fast with me in three days.”

Tyrion looked less than thrilled at the idea of it but still bowed to his father as Sansa managed a stiff curtsy. She curled her fingers into her black skirts and kept her lips pressed firmly together, descending the steps ahead of Tyrion at his invitation. When they reached the courtyard once more, she waited for her lord husband to lead her away to Maegor’s Holdfast where she would be shut away in a different kind of prison.

“Do you wish to rest?” he asked, glancing up at her.

Sansa considered it for a moment.

“I would visit the godswood if you permit it, my lord,” she said.

There was the faintest struggle with disappointment in Tyrion’s eyes and she wondered if he wanted her company. Yet he did not say as much and she certainly would not be the one to suggest it. He may have been kind to her but he was still a Lannister. If he could not understand her reasons for wanting solitude, he was not as clever as he claimed.

“Do as you wish, my lady,” Tyrion said.

She gave him a curtsy, quietly thanking him for his indulgence before turning away. It was far too easy to ignore the stares that followed her as she walked through the yard. Perhaps her time in the dungeon wrapped her spine in steel. Sansa kept her head high and her steps sure until she came across half a dozen of Lannister guards who bore a thick wooden slab with a massive form laying atop it. A sheet covered the body but the blood soaking into the fabric and the size of the man could only mean one thing. 

A tall, stooped man in poorly sewn maester’s robes led them but he did not wear the maester’s chains. Sansa noticed the wooden crate in his hands and knew what it held. She could not help but stop and stare at the procession, thinking on the monstrous man who died when he was meant to live. It was Cersei’s plan, undoubtedly. What man would dare to stand against the Mountain? What man would beat him? The queen and Lord Tywin and all the others who wished to see her die along with Tyrion did not expect Oberyn Martell to win the day.

“My lady,” the curious maester said, nodding his head to her as they passed.

“Maester,” Sansa said, clasping her hands in front of her. “With his victory, Prince Oberyn Martell claimed Ser Gregor’s head for Dorne. I trust that it will be delivered to him?”

The maester looked surprised, as if he had not been instructed to do so. Yet he nodded and held the crate more carefully.

“I will see it done myself,” he said.

Sansa stepped back, gesturing for him to continue with the certainty that he would do as he said. Ensuring that the gruesome prize found its way to where it belonged was the least that she could do for the man who saved her life, putting his own at risk in the process. As she continued towards the godswood, it was impossible not to notice that everyone, nobles and servants alike, cleared a path for her. There were no snickers or jeers but rather a resounding silence. Was it possible that they feared her? Did they think her guilty despite the fact that Prince Oberyn prevailed? Would whispers of  _ kingslayer _ haunt her steps for the rest of her life?

*****

If Tyrion ever did find his way to celebrate their innocence with Oberyn Martell and his Dornish household, she was not invited along. With an entirely new company of handmaidens that she did not trust, for Shae was suddenly absent with no explanation, Sansa found herself back to old habits, wandering the castle aimlessly or sitting alone at the edge of the gardens when she was not in the godswood. 

It was as she kneeled at the base of the massive oak heart tree that she heard the sound of approaching footsteps and harsh breathing. Standing up, Sansa turned at once as her hand went to the knife hidden in her cloak. Cersei may have been shut away in Maegor’s Holdfast but that did not mean that she could not order her killed. When the man stepped out of the shadows, she felt shock and anger course through her.

“My lady,” Dontos said, falling to his knees before her.

Sansa took a step away from him, hardening her heart to his pleading gaze. 

“I beg your forgiveness,” he said.

“You told me that we would leave at the feast,” she hissed, keeping her voice quiet lest anyone be lurking.

“I got lost in the confusion. I could not reach you in time,” Dontos said mournfully.

“I could have been executed!”

It wasn’t true, if Tyrion was to be believed. Her life was never in danger. Not when Tywin held it in his hand and especially not when Oberyn held it in his. But this man did not need to know it.

“But you are here and I can help you again,” Dontos said, scrambling to his feet. “There is still time to escape.”

Sansa stared at him with disbelief, this man she thought to be her Florian. How could she trust him to spirit her away when he did not succeed the first time? Besides, she was leaving with Tyrion soon. If the gods were good, she would not be forced to return.

“No,” Sansa said, stepping away from him. “I am leaving but not with you.”

“My lady-”

“You are not my knight,” she said, shaking her head. “I do not need you. I am leaving King’s Landing soon.”

Dontos looked at her desperately.

“Taken away to Casterly Rock to bed the Imp and bear his children? You will not have a choice there,” he said.

Sansa swallowed hard against the sudden dryness in her throat. Tyrion had always given her a choice. Surely he would not force himself upon her in Casterly Rock anymore than he would do so here.

“Please,” Dontos said, holding his hands out in a supplicating manner. “In four nights, upon the hour of the wolf, I will wait for you here and we will escape. I will be your Florian once more. Please, my lady. You must not trust the lions. Spurn the viper.”

He rambled on and on, disappearing back into the shadows and away from her sight before she could say anything. Sansa stared after him with wide eyes, holding the knife tightly in one hand as the other pressed over her middle. If he was right and Tywin sent them to Casterly Rock so that Tyrion would finally take his rights, she would be trapped. Especially if his seed took and she bore a Lannister heir. She would be the Lady of the Rock and there would be no escape. As much as she did not want to trust Dontos after he failed to help her once, Sansa did not want to face the rest of her life as Lady Lannister.

*****

Sansa couldn’t quite hide the unease she felt as she approached the section of the keep that the Martells occupied. Tyrion was already gone to dine with his father when she woke and rather than a table of food, her maids gave her an invitation to the solar of Ellaria Sand to break her fast. It should not have come as a surprise when she found not only the prince’s paramour awaiting her when she was permitted entrance to the solar, but the prince himself as well. Sansa observed her courtesies well, hoping that they did not sense her apprehension.

“Have you recovered from your ordeal, my lady?” Oberyn asked, pulling grapes apart from one another only to toss them in his mouth with a lazy grace.

“I have, Prince Oberyn,” Sansa said, keeping her eyes lowered as she chose a few different dishes to spoon onto her plate. “Thank you again for your part in proving our innocence. I fear that we will never repay your kindness.”

“I hear that you are a fine singer. Perhaps I will ask for a song or two on our journey to Dorne.”

Her eyes snapped to his of their own volition, widening in surprise at his words. Not only must he have asked around to hear of her singing, but he seemed so certain that she would be joining him on a journey to Dorne when nothing was decided. Sansa couldn’t imagine why Lord Tywin would allow it.

“I-I have not sung in years,” Sansa said, trying to decipher the amusement in his glittering eyes and the slightest smile that lifted the corners of his lips.

“He is jesting,” Ellaria said, shaking her head at the prince. “He thinks that he is funny. I beg of you to take my side and convince him otherwise. Perhaps if he heard it from someone else, he would finally learn that his little jokes are not so humorous.”

“You wound me, my love,” Oberyn said, grinning at her. “And you forget that I have heard you laugh and laugh at my wit before.”

“Well I did learn long ago to make room for your arrogance in our lives.”

Sansa felt as if she was intruding on something incredibly private as Oberyn lifted Ellaria’s hand to his mouth and pressed the softest kiss to her knuckles. Before her eyes could drop back to her plate, he turned his attention to her again.

“What do you know of Dorne, Lady Stark?”

There it was again. He did not call her Lady Lannister as so many did. Was it to reaffirm that he knew her marriage was not true? Did he mean to put her at ease? Was it his subtle way of mocking Tyrion even though he wasn’t around?

“Very little, my lord,” Sansa said, reaching out for her cup as she looked away from him. “There are very few in the North who have visited Dorne.”

“But your father did.”

She swallowed the Dornish red wine but it did nothing to battle the sudden cold that seeped into her chest. There was no blame or rage in Prince Oberyn’s words. Just simple fact.

“He did not speak of it much,” she said.

“No I can’t imagine that he did,” Oberyn said, his voice strangely gentle and yet distant as well. “To lose a sister so soon after suffering the loss of a father and a brother is unimaginable. I cannot imagine if I lost Doran as well as Elia in the same year.”

He spoke so bluntly that Sansa’s could not help but turn her eyes back to him.

“You do not hate him?” she asked.

“Why would I?”

Her mouth settled in a frown as she grappled with her thoughts, trying to find words that would not offend.

“He fought in the rebellion that ended with the deaths of your sister and her children,” Sansa finally said, knowing that his longing for justice stemmed from the brutal act.

“He did,” Oberyn said, sitting back in his chair with his cup held loosely in his hand. “Yet even in Dorne, we heard that Lord Stark demanded justice when he learned what Tywin Lannister’s men had done and was rebuffed by his friend, the new king. It caused an estrangement, did it not?”

Sansa did not know for certain because her father never spoke of it. But she knew from her mother that the close friendship bordering on brotherhood that he enjoyed with Robert Baratheon was damaged by the war they fought together. It was easy to imagine her honorable father reacting with horror to what was done to Princess Elia and her royal children.

“It must have,” she said.

“I did not find joy in Ned Stark’s loss just as I imagine you would not delight in sweet Myrcella’s mourning were she to suffer as you have.”

Though true, his words reminded Sansa of something that he said before he fought Ser Gregor Clegane. 

“You called her a queen,” she said.

“We believe that it is her right, as second born.”

Sansa stared at him, wondering if he was half-mad as the rumors told. Myrcella could not be queen as long as Tommen was king. She could see why the Dornish would want her on the Iron Throne, for she was betrothed to Prince Doran’s youngest son and they would have the consort in the Red Keep that they were promised and then denied so many years ago when Rhaegar died at the Trident.

“Oberyn,” Ellaria said, laying her hand upon the sleeve of his surcoat.

Sansa jolted, having nearly forgotten that the other woman was there because of her silence.

“Might I show you something, my lady?” Oberyn asked.

She knew better than to refuse him, nodding once in permission. He stood gracefully, crossing the room to pick up small chest that sat atop a writing desk. When the prince returned, he sat the chest upon his lap and opened it, pulling out a worn wineskin and, to her surprise, the hairnet that she wore to Joffrey’s wedding feast. There were more stones missing and she could see the dark smudges in the silver settings where they once were.

“You told me that Ser Dontos of House Hollard gifted this to you?” Oberyn asked, holding it out to her.

Sansa nodded, taking it gently from his hands.

“He told me that it was magic. That it was  _ home _ .”

Oberyn watched as she touched the tip of her finger to the empty sockets. It was only when she asked why he wanted to know about it that he replied when a question of his own.

“Did he tell you anything about the stones?”

“Only that they were rare black amethysts from Asshai,” Sansa said.

There was something in Oberyn’s eyes that told her this was a lie.

“What are they truly?” she asked, though she did not know if she wanted the answer.

“Did you know that I studied at the Citadel?” Oberyn said.

She nodded, feeling as though her heart was in her throat as she waited for him to explain the importance of showing her the hairnet.

“We do not just study healing and medicines there but death and poisons as well.”

Sansa’s eyes darted to the hairnet and she nearly dropped it.

“Poison,” she said, the pieces falling into place.

“It is called the Strangler for the effect it has on a person.”

Sansa let the hairnet fall to the table and pressed a hand over her chest. Though she’d maintained her innocence, she was an unwitting pawn in Joffrey’s death. Ser Dontos gave her the weapon and someone else used it. Was it Tyrion after all? Who else could have plucked the stone from her hair?

“The fool did not act alone,” Ellaria said, reaching out to take Sansa’s hand.

It was a comforting touch, especially for Sansa who had received so little of those since her father died. She found herself holding Ellaria’s hand in return.

“Did he tell you who gave him the hairnet?” Oberyn asked.

She shook her head, feeling quite overwhelmed all of the sudden.

“Do you know?” Sansa asked.

“When I arrived in this city, I placed several spies in various locations for my own uses. I have it on good authority from them that he is the paid servant of a mockingbird.”

A mockingbird?

“Lord Baelish?” she said with confusion.

It made far too much sense and yet far too little at the same time. Why would Lord Baelish want Joffrey dead? Was he the one who truly intended to spirit her away from King’s Landing? Why did he not do so when he left to marry her Aunt Lysa? But if he was still lingering in or near King’s Landing, he hadn’t left. Was he waiting for her? He must have been. Ser Dontos told her to meet him back in the godswood to escape. Perhaps Lord Baelish was nearby even now, preparing to spirit her away. But his scheme, whatever it was, nearly took her life. She couldn’t trust his intentions. Not before and certainly not now.

“I always thought that he wanted something from me,” Sansa said, sitting back in her chair with a frown. “I think that he loved my mother.”

Oberyn nodded, watching her closely as Ellaria squeezed her hand in gentle comfort.

“This Dontos has disappeared from the castle entirely. No one has seen him since the wedding.”

Sansa looked at the prince carefully, sinking her teeth into her lower lip. Awareness lit up in his eyes at once.

“No one apart from you,” he guessed correctly.

“He offered another escape,” she admitted.

“Will you take it?” Ellaria asked.

Sansa did not answer. She did not know. Her eyes fell upon the wineskin when she looked away from them and, as if he could sense her faint curiosity, Oberyn took it in his hands once more.

“This contains the wine that Ser Gregor drank before our duel.”

Her eyes widened as she remembered how quickly the knight grew tired and how easy the fight seemed even to her unseasoned eyes.

“Was it poisoned as well?” Sansa asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” Oberyn said with a nod. “I tested the wine and found sweetsleep. I cannot know the amount but I assume that it was meant to slow the Mountain, not kill him. It seems someone wanted to make certain that he did not win the fight. It may have been one of Lord Tyrion’s allies. Perhaps Lord Tywin himself, for he never intended either of you to die. It was only his daughter’s raving accusations that brought you to trial at all.”

“But Ser Gregor was Lord Tywin’s bannerman,” Sansa said.

“Yet not, in anyone’s eyes, quite as valuable as you.”

She did not know what to think of any of it. Her head spun with everything that she’d learned. As her eyes settled upon the hairnet once more, she wondered how many people in the castle might have been able to identify the stones as poison if they got a closer look. Glancing up at Oberyn, Sansa saw him watching her curiously and took a deep breath before speaking.

“You suspected what it truly was when you took the hairnet from my cell.”

It was not a question yet he nodded nonetheless.

“If it had been found, no one would have questioned my guilt,” Sansa said, unable to quite wrap her mind around all of the kindness the prince had shown her. “Thank you.”

Oberyn reached out, taking her hand much like Ellaria had. His hand was not as soft, though his touch was no less gentle for the calluses and scars that she could feel beneath her palm.

“I did tell you not to be afraid,” he reminded her.

She let out a cross between a sob and a laugh and only then realized that tears had sprung to her eyes unbidden. Yet Sansa did not keep them from falling, somehow knowing that this Dornish prince and his paramour would not blame her for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!


End file.
